


Welcome Home

by illusemywords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Break Up, Derek Comes Back, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 19:24:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7002223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illusemywords/pseuds/illusemywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek comes back to Beacon Hills. To Stiles.<br/>Inspired by the song 'Welcome Home' by Radical Face</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> for the ultimate angsty experience please listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8a4iiOnzsc) while reading

Derek can’t sleep. He’s been lying there, in the bed – he can’t bring himself to call it his bed – for hours, but still, sleep won’t come. His eyes are open and burning. He blinks slowly – once, twice. Turning his head, he can barely see the sun starting to rise outside the window. Another day, another sleepless night. It’s been happening more and more lately – the insomnia.

He sighs heavily and sits up, throwing the covers aside and moving his legs over the side of the bed until his feet hit the cold floor. He gets up and pads into the bathroom, turning the shower on and letting the water heat up. He brushes his teeth quickly, staring at himself in the mirror until the steam from the shower fogs the glass up too much for him to see his reflection.

Derek steps under the spray of the shower, letting the water run over him and wake him up. As he pours shampoo into his palm and massages it into his scalp he tries – and fails – not to imagine long, thin, bony fingers doing this instead of his own. He can almost hear the soft laugh in his ear as soap slides down the side of his face.

***

_“Oops,” he remembers. “Sorry, Der-Bear, just close your eyes.” He does._

_“Don’t call me that,” he says grumpily, just to hear that breathy laugh again as Stiles runs a soft washcloth down his temple, wiping away the soap that was steadily making its way towards Derek’s eye._

_“Okay,” Stiles says, removing the washcloth. “Keep your eyes closed and tip your head back.” Derek does, moving his head back and under the warm spray and letting Stiles massage his scalp, soap running down his back and escaping down the drain._

_“All done, you can open your eyes now,” Stiles says eventually._

_Derek opens his eyes, green eyes meeting honey colored ones. Stiles smiles at him. “There are those gorgeous eyes,” he says._

_“They were only closed for like, 30 seconds,” Derek points out with a roll of his eyes._

_Stiles slaps him on the arm, the sound sharp but the pain virtually non-existent. “Whatever, Sourwolf. Now do me.” He turns around, tilting his head back._

_Derek smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the side of Stiles’ neck, a place he knows Stiles is extra sensitive. His arms sneak around Stiles’ waist, trapping him against Derek’s chest even as he wiggles against him, giggling uncontrollably._

_“No, Derek, stop,” he says between giggles. Derek continues pressing kisses up and down his neck until Stiles finally breaks free with a gasp, moving to the other side of the small shower._

_He turns around and glares at Derek, but Derek can see the smile threatening to break free. “And here I was, thinking I could trust you with my secrets,” he says, shaking his head, eyes glinting mischievously “And then you go and abuse the knowledge like that.”_

_Derek grins and takes a step towards Stiles, effectively putting them in each other’s personal spaces again. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Will you forgive me?”_

_“Hmm,” Stiles says, bringing his hands up to Derek’s chest. “I’ll think about it.”_

_Derek leans down and captures Stiles’ lips in a soft kiss, sneaking his arms around him again and pulling them back back under the shower spray._

***

Derek steps out of the shower, heart beating harshly in his chest at the memory. His eyes are burning again, but for a different reason this time. He can’t escape this forever. It’s time he faces what he’s been avoiding for months now.

He towels off quickly and gets dressed in a pair of jeans and a soft, blue Henley. He walks down to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the bench. He moves further into the house, stopping in the living room where he finds Cora, sitting on the couch, legs folded up under her, quietly watching the early morning news, a cup similar to Derek’s in her hands.

Derek sits down at the other end of the couch. They don’t speak until the news are finished, Cora’s now empty cup on the table in front of them. “What are you doing up this early?” Derek asks, still looking at the television.

At the edge of his vision he sees Cora shrug. “Couldn’t sleep,” she says. “What about you?”

“Same,” he says, lifting his cup and emptying the rest of the now lukewarm coffee into his mouth. He puts the cup down next to Cora’s.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Cora asks. “I can tell.”

Derek opens his mouth to speak, but no words will come. Instead, he nods.

“Are you going back?” she asks. Derek turns to look at her. She looks curious. Not angry, not sad, just curious. The silence is heavy between them. They’re just staring at each other, gazes locked, neither breaking away. Cora looks tired. Derek knows that she’s thriving her, in South America. He knows that he wants to stay with her – with his family. But he also knows that this place – this pack – will never be his home. He has to go home.

“I think I have to,” Derek says eventually, breaking away from Cora’s stare and instead looking down at his hands.

She nods, once. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll help you pack.”

***

The next day, Derek leaves Cora and the South American pack. He thanks them for their hospitality. He hugs Cora goodbye and promises to visit. He thanks her, again, for being there for him. For letting him hide. For letting him go. He doesn’t even know what he’s thanking her for, but he knows that this is the right thing to do. He needs to go home.

So he gets in his car, and he drives away. Days blur into nights and nights into days. He keeps driving, stopping only when he literally can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He sleeps in his car, or in shitty motel rooms. He eats shitty gas station food while filling the tank of his car.

It takes him five days of almost non-stop driving, but eventually he’s rolling into Beacon Hills. It’s late, dark shadows stretching across abandoned streets. He drives down Stiles’ street, past his house. There’s light in his window despite the late hour, but Derek doesn’t stop. Not now.

He presses down on the gas and drives away, across town, to where his loft still stands, untouched. He can tell that the apartment has mostly been left untouched, but once he steps into the bedroom there’s the unmistakable smell of Stiles. His breath hitches as he recalls sleepy morning cuddles, the summer between Stiles’ sophomore and junior year.

It started out as them researching the Alpha pack, but it quickly evolved into something more. Something much more. They kept it up for most of the summer, sneaking around the pack and Stiles’ father. And then Cora came back and left again. And they defeated the Alpha pack. And Stiles almost lost his father.

And then, of course, the nogitsune happened. Stiles wasn’t the same after that. Derek tried reaching out to him, but Stiles cut him off, saying he wanted to be alone. Sometimes, Derek would sit outside his window at night, fully aware that he was being a creep. He just needed to hear that Stiles was okay. Of course, more often than not, Stiles woke himself up from a nightmare screaming, and Derek had to leave. Even though he wanted nothing more than to climb in through the window and hold Stiles close, he knew it wouldn’t be welcomed.  

***

_“Go away, Derek,” Stiles says, not turning around to face him._

_“Stiles,” Derek tries. “You need to talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but you have to talk to someone. What you’re doing to yourself – it isn’t healthy.”_

_Stiles snorts. “Yeah? That’s rich, coming from you. You’re not exactly the poster boy for healthy coping mechanisms either.”_

_Derek pauses, taking a tentative step towards the pale, thin boy standing in front of him._

_“I know,” he says quietly. “I know I’m not. But that doesn’t mean what you’re doing to yourself is okay. You need to sleep. I know you have nightmares – I do too – but you need to sleep, or you’re going to die.”_

_“Sleeping is what almost got me killed in the first place. It’s what killed Allison, and Aiden, and all those people at the hospital, at the sheriff’s station – my dad almost –“ Stiles’ breath hitches on a sob, and Derek’s there in an instant, wrapping strong arms around the shivering, sobbing boy._

_Stiles lets himself be held for a while, until he stops crying. He lifts his head and stares at Derek with eyes that are still filled with tears. “Go home, Derek,” he says hoarsely. “Before I hurt you too.”_

_***_

They’d still send each other longing looks at pack meetings sometimes, and when Stiles went after Scott in Mexico, he turned and looked at Derek for so long that for a second, Derek was sure that Stiles would come back for him. But then he turned and left, and so Derek, after evolving into his full wolf shift, did the same. He left.

At first it was because he and Braeden needed to find the Desert Wolf. But then, after Braeden left to go back to Beacon Hills, Derek began finding flimsier and flimsier excuses to stay away. He wanted to travel, see the world. Cora needed him. Cora’s pack needed him. He wasn’t ready.

But now, here he is, back in Beacon Hills. In his loft. He’s going to see Stiles again. He still isn’t ready, but if he doesn’t do it now, he’s not sure he ever will. So he goes to bed, determined to seek out Stiles in the morning.

***

Their dryer is broken. Stiles’ dad is at work, so Stiles pulls their clean laundry from the washer and dumps it into a laundry basket, hoisting it up in his arms and carrying it outside to the old clothesline stretched taut on their front lawn.

He puts the basket down at his feet and pulls a wet sheet into his hands, working on untangling it and hanging it up on the line. He secures it with two clothespins and reaches in for the next sheet, repeating the process.

He was almost done hanging up the laundry when he heard it; a car, driving down the street towards their house. He turns, spotting the black car as it turns around the corner. His breath hitches. No. It can’t be. It’s not possible.

Stiles watches, numb, as the black Camaro pulls to a stop in front of their house. Stiles is clutching a wet t-shirt in his hands, so hard that his knuckles are turning white around the cloth. The driver’s side door opens and out steps a man Stiles never thought he’d see again.

“Derek?” he chokes out. His hands are trembling, still holding the shirt tightly. Behind him, the sheets are swaying in the wind, like ghosts, hovering mere inches over the green grass.

Derek closes the car door with a push and steps around the car, towards him. He stops a few steps away from him.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks roughly. He can’t be here. This can’t be happening.

“I came back,” Derek says, and fuck, his voice still makes Stiles’ knees weak. “I’ve come home.” Derek takes a step closer and Stiles takes a step back, shaking his head.

“No,” he says. “No. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to – to show up here again, now, after _months_ of _nothing_. You left us, Derek. You left _me_. And you didn’t even bother to pick up the phone. I called you, Derek, I texted you every day for two months. And you didn’t reply once.” He’s still shaking his head, breath coming quickly. His heart is beating wildly.

No. Not now. He can’t have a fucking panic attack now. He tries to focus on his breathing but it doesn’t work. He can’t breathe.

“Stiles, I’m sorry,” Derek says.

“You’re sorry?” Stiles asks between shallow breaths. “You’re _sorry_? You left me alone here for months and that’s all you have to say? We needed you, Derek. I needed you. Fuck. Do you have any idea what happened here? How many people died?” He chokes on the word died, thinking of blood covering his hands, soaking in a puddle on the floor. He thinks of standing outside in the pouring rain, clutching a wrench in his hand as Scott tells him to stay away from them. He remembers the tiny little voice that kept running through his head that night. _Derek would’ve believe me._

The wet shirt falls to the grass. Derek steps closer, reaching a hand out to touch Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles moves away, out of his reach. “Don’t _touch_ me,” he spits.

“You don’t get to come back now and just – just pick up where we left off. We’re not the same people we were that summer, Derek. I’m broken. I’m ruined. I’m so, so fucked up, you wouldn’t even believe it.” He’s shaking his head again. He feels wetness sliding down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d started crying.

“Stiles, I love you,” Derek says, and fuck, Stiles has waited forever to hear those words come from Derek.

Stiles looks up at Derek, determined even as his lip trembles, tears running down his face. “I love you too, Derek, I probably always will. But right now, that’s not enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek says again.

***

Stiles is dreaming. He knows it’s a dream, he knows that, but somehow, it doesn’t really do anything to soothe him. He’s barefoot, walking through the woods in his pajamas. He’s had this dream, or variations of it, several times a week since the nogitsune.

He’s walking through the woods. It’s dark – he can barely make out the trees surrounding him, but he knows that he has to keep walking. He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t stop, he just keeps walking.

There’s a light somewhere in front of him. He walks towards it. The light is getting brighter, larger, warmer, the closer he gets. Suddenly, he breaks through the trees into a clearing. In front of him is the large stump of the Nemeton. It looks innocent and calm, but Stiles knows what it’s capable of.

In the middle of the stump, sits a figure he recognizes – the nogitsune, wearing Stiles’ face and showing him a truly terrifying grin. Before all that happened, Stiles never could have imagined seeing an expression like that on his own face. Stiles is still walking closer, towards the doppelgänger sitting cross-legged in the middle of a dead, magical tree.

His hands are shaking as he reaches out to touch the tree, feeling its magic pulsing just underneath the surface of the wood. The nogitsune stands up and walks towards Stiles. Despite their same height it’s towering over him where it stands on the stump, still grinning at him.

“Let me in,” it whispers menacingly in Stiles’ voice.

Stiles wakes up with a gasp, tears already burning in his eyes. He breathes deeply, in and out, like his therapist taught him after his mother died. Like Lydia told him after his dad was taken by the Darach. Like Scott reminded him after he ran from history class, scared that he was losing his mind.

There’s a noise outside Stiles’ window. He startles in his bed, clutching the covers pooled around his hips. He turns just in time to see Derek climbing in through the window.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, voice thick with sleep and anxiety. The room is dark, the only light the light from the moon, shining in through the window.

“I’m sorry,” Derek says. He looks like he doesn’t know what he’s doing there. “I just – I was outside, and I heard you having a nightmare and I couldn’t just let you deal with it alone. Your dad’s on the night shift right?”

Stiles barely comprehends what Derek is saying. “Have you been outside my house all day?” he asks incredulously.

Derek at least has the decency to look sheepish about it. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, just like he’d done earlier that day, when he showed up out of the blue. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Okay. He wanted to make sure that Stiles was okay. The words cause a sudden, fiery hot anger to surge up in Stiles. He pushes the covers away and stands up to face Derek. “Does it look like I’m okay?” he asks slowly, quietly, all but shaking with the anger surging through his veins. “Do you think I’ve been okay – even once – since a fucking chaos demon possessed me and used my body to do unspeakable things?”

“Stiles –“ Derek tries, but Stiles holds a hand up.

“No, Derek, listen to me.” He pulls up one leg of his pajama pants, showing the pale skin of his leg. “This is where the nogitsune convinced me my leg was caught in a bear trap as it threw stupid riddles at me and told me to _let it in_." He lets the fabric drop and lifts his shirt instead, using his free hand to trace a line across the spotless skin of his stomach. “This is where it stabbed me and cut my stomach open.” The shirt falls back down as Stiles turns around to hitch up the back of his shirt, showing off the wendigo bite there – the only physical scar he has. “This is where a freaking lab experiment wendigo tried to kill me.” He drops the shirt again and turns back, holding his hands up. “These are the hands I killed him with.” His breaths are shaky, the anger seeping out of him as quickly as it had appeared.

He lifts a hand and taps a finger against the side of his head. “And this? This is where I remember everything – every terrible thing I’ve done, both as the nogitsune and as myself.”

Derek is staring at him; mouth open like he wants to speak but isn’t sure how.

“Derek.” Stiles says the word like a prayer, like it gives him life. “I have so many scars on me, very few of them physical. I’m not okay. I don’t know if I ever will be again.”

Derek doesn’t speak, just steps forward and opens his arms wide. Stiles breathes out and steps into the warm embrace of Derek’s arms. He’s so tired. He just wants to be held, no matter how angry he still is. No matter his feelings for Derek, his arms will always make him feel safe.

“I’m back,” Derek murmurs into Stiles’ soft hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

“You were never supposed to leave,” Stiles whispers back, voice rough.

“I know,” Derek says, rubbing a hand down Stiles’ back soothingly.

Stiles lifts a hand and wedges it between their bodies, holding it to Derek’s chest, over his heart. He feels the heart beating steadily against his palm and leans further into Derek’s embrace.

“Welcome home,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry w me about sterek  
> [tumblr](http://illusemywords.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I mean really, tell me the lyrics  
> 'All my nightmares escape my head  
> Bar the door, please don't let them in  
> You were never supposed to leave  
> Now my head's splitting at the seams'  
> arent meant for Sterek. I dare you.


End file.
